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Calvin klein resort 2018 collection

Date: 15.10.2018, 16:35 / View: 73135

A delightfully companionable and vibrant friend of mine, Devin, died from a fentanyl overdose while I was writing my first review of CK2. The resulting shockwave contributed to a rather bizarre stream of consciousness, the effect of grief and not my original intention. Below is my review, not as conceived with a seismic ripple of sorrow, but rather with just a bit of crestfallen reflection. CK2 was Devin’s last addition to his collection and it suited him. He always smelled like fresh sea air.

Not every fragrance selection needs to be made deliberately. In fact, some would argue that it’s better to just like something without thinking about it too much or allowing others to attach their beliefs to your conclusions or make you feel bad about choosing something they hold in contempt (or not choosing something they like). I have occasionally forgotten this myself, but CK2 reminds me that ersatz sandalwood, tea rose, violet leaf and wasabi imbued with the slight, but still sharp, implication of damp river rocks created by the magic of chemistry does work most convincingly on a sultry day when I am sitting on my lanai watching the waves crest and fall. It blends most pleasingly with salted sea air, but not so much with direct sun; maybe more so after the sun has disappeared behind the blazing, angular façade of the glass house on its journey through the empty blue sky to the sunset world I used to inhabit.

Yes, here are the dusty roads, long traveled miles, the hint of a cascading brook with its little round stones disgorged onto Cannon Beach, faintly aromatic miniature pink tea roses crumbling in a musty volume of Christabel/Kubla Khan, and a clear glass tube reminiscent of medical intervention. Love, Life and Death all synthesized and ready to be mainlined into my sensual late afternoon lifestyle of gyms, spas, shopping, lunches, ice tinkling in tumblers, clear liquid intoxicants (for respite); man and woman; art and love, and the whole collapsing singularity viewed from the little island of safety I inhabit. Safe is beautiful and chic, and feels so good when the world is falling apart, like Anna Wintour working a white Chanel column dress at the Met Gala. You see its face, the Medusa, and then you turn to stone from embarrassment for loving its smirk; cruelty in the mouth that wasn’t there before when you were young and sweet.

CK2 is on the event horizon but will soon disappear, so catch it now while its wild, wet rapids and hot rush of salty, rosy, bleached white sandalwood is ripping itself open. When this sunlit moment is spent, find it then catalogued, fossilized and forgotten on eBay.

Devin, my little wakeboarder, you will never be forgotten. I wish I hadn’t taken leave to New York the weekend you died. I wish you had placed greater faith in our friendship and confided in me just a bit more about what you were feeling, because I would have asked you to come along with me or stayed with you and listened to anything you had to say. In fact, I wish you had decided to do nearly anything other than what you chose to do that day. Now you exist only in memory, young and sweetly fragrant ever more.


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